EXTRAORDINARY
by numinous Other
Summary: It's been eight years since the NOVEMBER Incident, when first the world came to learn of mutants (people possessed of strange and dangerous abilities). The Incident would ultimately lead to the passage of the Mutant Registration Act. And now: the world is on the precipice of change, the only question is, what comes next? A reboot of the X-Men, as told in 2017.


They were only two more kills from winning the match. Their opponents had talked a big game, but like all others, they proved far less capable. The imminent win would turn out more interesting given the money they wagered. Matt seemed against financial incentives, wanting instead for his raw skill to do the talking. But Roberto da Costa is disruptive. And there was not much more disruptive than taking money from affluent, American white boys who think they're the best at something.

Roberto had tapped the mechanism at the bottom of his rifle-facsimile, his in-game avatar responding by reloading the clip. He had taken point down the hall and was rewarded with yet another kill. Near the end of this match, he was now with six unanswered kills, but the match set to twenty-five, his buddy Matt was at seventeen, also unanswered.

This shooter wasn't his favorite—it was a far cry from Halo Six, but VR-cades had become the adolescents' national pastime, the last couple of years. Roberto had lived in America long enough to see the transition and really couldn't imagine much else more entertaining.

But he was glad to be Matt's teammate and not opponent. The two rarely competed against each other except for private practice, but Matt seemed a natural at virtually every shooter. Roberto wasn't sure how he did it, and wasn't sure he understood when Matt tried to explain it.

"It's, like... probability." Matt had struggled to find the words. "Once I know a map, I can, like, predict where you are, based on just the knowledge of where you're not. And that's to say nothing of respawn mechanics."

There was no sneaking up on him. Matt was always ready for you, no matter where you tried to attack him, whether high or low, front or rear. So for Roberto, it was all about meeting him halfway and communicating. After about a year of obsessive combat, the two had become an exceptional pair of battle buddies—MAD DOGS, as Roberto dubbed.

"They're likely at the rear station, you take the basement lift. I'll head up top and cut 'em off at the noob-tube. Don't forget the grenades." Matt was almost a natural commander, the consummate professional. It was easy to trust he knew what he was doing, under such circumstances. But it was also a marked diversion from character. In the two years the two knew each other, Matt was never so authoritative. In fact it had come as a surprise to Roberto when the two started teaming together.

Matt was reserved. He had moved to New York and transferred to Brooklyn Visions a couple of years after Roberto had moved to the States. Matt didn't talk much with the other classmates. But there had been something about him. He asked rather piercing questions in class, he almost always had the diverging opinion, positioning an astute observation using evidence and reasoning many of the other kids didn't understand, even in this pricey charter school. And they almost never knew when to expect he might offer a suggestion or opinion. The timing had proved opportune, Roberto had long ago grown bored with his classmates.

On the surface, Roberto had "friends", but he still felt isolated, a person whose true self remained to be seen. His classmates didn't seem to understand what it was like, their own perspectives shallow and insulated from the real world. Roberto had come from the real world. He knew what it was like out there. And he remembered what it had been like when he couldn't speak the language. With Matt, he saw a kindling of hope. Now, the two were best friends, as close as any friend Roberto had from his old life. Before America, before November.

The two were close for another reason. They hadn't known it at the time of their first meeting, but they were different from the vast majority of people in the world. Roberto figured it was this secret that made Matt louco-boa at shooter games. Back then, Matt had yet to say anything, but Roberto figured it was no big deal. It wasn't like he hadn't also kept a secret.

"Berto, you in position?"

"Copy that, _mano_."

"Alright, execute."

Roberto tossed his grenades up the lift. He heard the dual THUMPS and saw the dots on his radar flee their position. Then he took the lift to follow after. Two floors up, he had then chased them down a corridor. The rear opponent turned to fire on Roberto, who answered back, and they tried to take cover in an alcove. But then, BOOM.

"GAME OVER. Blue team WINS."

The spectating audience erupted in "OH!"s and "Get some!"s. Roberto removed his headpiece and set it down on the terminal, some of the guys patting him on the back. Roberto surfed around the throng surrounding Matt, the MVP with a perfect match, just as he sat down his gun and headpiece. Roberto gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Good game, _bicho_."

Matt gave a shy nod.

Their opponents shuffled over in shame, hands dug in their pockets. The crowd hushed in silence, waiting to see what the losers had to say, given their pre-game overtures. But they said nothing. They reached out with their hands, each holding a Harriet-Tubman.

Roberto made to receive the spoils, but they retreated, leaving him to grab air.

"Wait a sec. We don't reward cheaters, here," one boy had said.

Roberto and Matt traded confused glances. "It's VR, _chefe_ , how you figure we cheated?"

The first boy bumped his fist on his mate's shoulder.

"Because you didn't tell us you're mutants," the second boy replaced his twenty and then crossed his arms.

The crowd grew silent.

"Please. That's your excuse? What, two little black boys can't have a perfect match against you, so now we're mutants?"

The crowd erupted.

"We couldn't sneak up on you, even with power weapons. Your friend routinely hunted us down, even while crouched. He knew where we were. Ergo: mutie."

"And mutie scum ain't welcome here, puto."

"Fuck you guys." Roberto, ignoring they thought him hispanic, made to approach the two guys, but Matt grabbed him by the elbow. Roberto turned to him and Matt shook his head.

"Let's just go."

"Are you kidding?"

He looked at Matt again, and then recognized the expression across his face. It was almost like he could hear something, and then his eyes began to dart around the crowd. Roberto got the message.

Roberto turned from the night's losers and put his arm around Matt's shoulders as they shuffled through the crowd.

"That's right, run away, mutie!"

Roberto flipped them off as they left the arcade.

They stood out in the main mall, and Roberto spoke in Matt's ear, "What's going on? Talk to me."

Matt was looking toward one end of the mall, then turned towards the other. He was shaking his head, "I, uh . . . I—I don't know. Like, we've got to leave, I know that . . . but it's like..." Matt trailed off.

"Come on." Roberto led him to a side exit, a long hallway with concrete bricks and sterile, fluorescent lighting. Roberto made to walk down the hall towards the exit, but again, Matt grabbed him by the elbow.

"Wait..."

Down the other end, a man with dark hair, glasses and a white-checkered, long-sleeve shirt walked into the hall, his dark slacks held up by suspenders. He swiped his card at the the vending machine. Matt pulled him closer and back through the door into the mall.

"I don't get it, it was just a guy—"

"I know, I know, we just can't go out that way," Matt was adamant.

"Well there's got to be a way we can get out..."

"I don't know. I don't know why it won't go away."

Matt's hands were on his head now. Roberto could tell he was trying to concentrate, but he was growing concerned. The look of fear on Matt's face seemed

legitimate.

"Think, _mano_ : why wouldn't we be able to leave?"

Matt was still shaking his head. "I don't know. I don't know, it's like nowhere is safe..."

"I don't understand," Roberto grabbed Matt, escorting him down the hall, towards the crowded center. It seemed counter-intuitive, but Roberto figured maybe they could cut through the food court towards the front and—

"Wait," Matt pulled Roberto to a stop.

"You've got something?"

"I don't know... I think so..."

Matt then led him into the food court. Roberto didn't think it made much sense, seeing as that's where they were headed anyway. The place was packed, so loud Roberto could hardly think to himself. Then Matt just stopped, in the middle of it all. Matt turned round, pulling him close.

"What is it?" Roberto could see Matt's eyes were searching for something.

"I'm not sure, yet."

"Here? You're saying we're safe, in here?"

Matt hesitated before nodding his head.

"Why?"

Roberto's question then seemed rhetorical, left unanswered.

"Look if we've got to get out of here, then let's just go—"

Matt held him by the elbow, keeping him from heading out, and Roberto turned to him again. On the one hand, Matt's hand has a welcome home in the crease of that elbow, he always grabs him there whenever he has something to say, and it's become easy to feel reassured, knowing his friend had his six. But given the circumstances, Roberto had grown concerned — Matt had never been like this. And Roberto couldn't understand what was going on. What could be this bad? Matt could always find it before, why couldn't he find it this time?

Matt's eyes were locked somewhere in the crowd, but he pulled him close again, ". . . do you trust me?"

Roberto saw the reservation in Matt's eyes, wherever it was he looked. Roberto tried to follow his gaze, hoping to discover the same reconciliation. But no go. He turned, then, to the rear exit, and then the front. And he considered the food court's central position, the packed crowd. Fear had begun to set in, like some sort of animal—a predator—were chasing them. But he turned again to his friend and, still, found that stone-stoic look in his eyes.

"You know I do."


End file.
